


Wings and Parenting

by JokieRokie



Category: Dream-smp, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc
Genre: Baby TommyInnit, Fluff, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kid Technoblade, Kid Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Wing Grooming, Wings, all the kids will make your heart throb, good simple fluff, no beta we die like men, phil is a good dad, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, there are CHILDREN so no sexual behavior, this is why mom doesn't fucking love you, we stan philza minecraft in this house, wilbur has wings, wing cleaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28406109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokieRokie/pseuds/JokieRokie
Summary: Philza is inviting real estate agents over for dinner to kick off the moving process but after spilling some soup on his kimono, he travels up the stairs to hear a crying Wilbur stuck in his shirt. Some wing cleaning and good parenting goes a long way, even when you're on a time limit.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 322





	Wings and Parenting

Dinner was simmering while the tired and busy father somewhat scrambled to make the table look presentable. The last paycheck came in a couple days ago which meant the family of four could start the move out process. Phil’s initial thought when the money was deposited was of course, ‘What better way to start this long and excruciating process then to have dinner with the real estate agent?’. So now his humble little boys were getting ready, as efficient single digit kids could be. 

“Techno!” The father bellowed. A pair of soft hooves descended down the fragile stairs and a little paper crown popped up into view of the kitchen. Phil had to hold in a giggle as his little piglin was still in royal attire. “Techno, can you be a good big brother and bring Tommy down? He needs tummy time.”

All of Phil’s children were an animal of some kind. Animals of some kind who are also shapeshifters, to be specific. Techno was a rosy pastel piglin while Tommy, his baby, was a riled up little racoon. 

His middle child, Wilbur, was a mix of...something. Philza couldn’t quite grasp what Wilbur could be or grow up to be considering some shapeshifters have a late bloom. He and Kristen were betting he’d be a phantom since he had ghostly pale skin and a sort of wisp in his voice. 

The uncertainty of the matter was his wings. Wilbur had the wings of a robin, it seemed. Kristen pointed out he could’ve taken after Phil since his main form was that of a harpy. That would make sense and his son’s skin and voice could just be a matter of genetics. 

Although... Techno has nonchalantly mentioned during breakfast that Wilbur could phase his arm through a wall and Tommy has babbled and pointed at Wilbur shouting, ‘Ghost! Ghost!’. The only reason this is such a big concern is because Phil doesn’t know how to guide Wilbur into shifting from one form to the other. 

Of course he’s going to nurture and care for his child without knowing what his child is, it’s just going to be a rough late bloom with explaining and teaching and blah blah blah. 

This could be another case of Phil overthinking and worrying about parenting even though he’s completely and utterly fine and should have nothing to even worry-

“Oh bloody hell! You fuu...dging meanie head! That’s all!” He painfully smiled toward his children in the other room. While in a state of overthinking, his autopilot didn’t catch the hot bowl of soup falling off the counter and drenching the bottom of his kimono.

“Techno? I need you to watch over the door and Tommy, okay? Don’t worry about the food.” Phil carried his robe while making a Beeline for the stairs. “What did I say about answering the door?”

“Don’t let them see who you are because people around here don’t like us.” A tired voice answered.

“Good boy.”

Philza mastered cursing softly when children were still awake in the house, besides the kitchen incident earlier, of course. In the midst of his sailor moment, he heard soft sobbing as he passed the bathroom door. His fatherly instinct started to step in as he thought of why one of his sons could be crying. 

He shuffled towards the door and leaned in, hearing sniffles now. The gentlest of knocks was made and silence took over the room it seemed. “Wilbur? Are you okay there?” 

Silence. Dead silence, until the voice of a familiar middle child answered, “Papa, I think-” A pain hit Philza’s chest as he could hear a choked sob, “I think I need help.” 

Phil turned the doorknob as a soft click could be heard. As he peeked inside the sight he saw was somewhat laugh worthy. His son, his mashup boy, was sitting on the bathroom floor with his shirt stuck over his head, wings bent in an uncomfortable position, and was struggling to hold back tears. 

The father crouched, helping Wilbur to take off his shirt. Wiping the child’s eyes as he began to ask, “Wilbur, could you tell me what happened?” 

Two little arms wrapped around Philza, sobbing into the already incredibly dirty robe. “I-I wanted to clean my wings like you-u, but my shirt got stuck while I was p-plucking them and I got scared so I tried to take it off, b-but then I couldn’t see and I didn’t know what to do and-” 

“Okay, okay, it’s okay. Breathe for me, one. Okay? Two,” Wilbur started to calm down with counting and seemed fit to continue talking. “You said you wanted to clean your wings like me?”

His son nodded frantically. The problem with that statement is that they had different types of wings. Philza had broad soaring wings which were longer and could be cleaned with a shirt on. Wilbur had Elliptical wings which were smaller and more condensed. They needed to be cleaned by either soaking them in water or plucking them for 10 hours by yourself.

It made sense that Wilbur tried to take after his dad but he didn’t realize the disconnect, which was okay. He was seven, for christ’s sake. 

Since guests were coming over, Phil quickly made a plan in his head. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll pluck your wings and then you go down and take care of cooking, okay?” 

The constant amazement in Wilbur’s eyes when he looked up at his father was priceless and something Phil could never forget. His son nodded frantically once again at the proposal.   
“Alrighty, go sit on the edge of the bath and turn around.” Wilbur let go and trotted along. Philza eternally panicked at how long this would take. 

They both settled and Phil worked his 23 years of experience onto his son’s wings. A comfortable silence occupied the room to soon end with a lesson. “Would you like to know the parts you need to focus on?” 

“Sure!” Phil chuckled at the enthusiastic response.

“Okay, the mid part that you feel me touching?” He softly pinched the mid area close to Wilbur’s back. “This is your scapular. Say it with me so you remember, scapular.” 

The voices combined, sounding unanimous in pronunciation. 

“Very good! Your scapular is the beginning of your wing. This part needs the most love and attention or else you could tangle your feathers. When that happens, it hurts quite a lot, so try to only pluck the excess down closest to your back.” 

“Is that the only part I need to clean?” The curious boy pondered aloud.

“Well that's not the only part you need to clean. You feel where I’m touching?” He began to brush along the wide middle part of his wing. “This is your secondary covert. When you move beneath those, you’ll find your secondaries. These two will give your body more support when in flight.” Philza was already beginning to pluck the lower area of his secondaries. Too many ingrown feathers.

“You’re gonna wanna pay attention to those as well. Of course they don’t need as much attention as your scapular, but it’s always safe to give them a boost. Down the middle is the best spot I’d say.”

“But dad,”

“Hmm?” Phil looked up for once.

“Why don’t I clean my wings like yours?” Wilbur’s already soft voice wavered. 

“Oh, that’s because my wings are bigger. Bigger wings require more areas to clean.”Wilbur’s head dropped a bit at the comment.

Knowing the feeling of jealousy, his dad attempted to lighten his spirits. 

“Of course I wish I had your wings. They’re small and easier to clean, not at all big and bulky like mine. Honestly, they get in the way, y’know?” All of which was a total lie.

He liked his broad wings for the strength they gave him. Much easier to carry and pick up his children in a rush. Since the size was larger, way easier to clean. Although, the getting in the way part was somewhat true. He’d sometimes find himself groaning in pain due to his wings bumping into another inanimate object. 

Four hardcore lives and three children later, you’d think he wouldn’t be such a klutz.

Nevertheless, Phil soon came to an end with his cleaning session and tried to wrap up his teaching lesson, “Okay Wilbur, you’re all done. Can you repeat what I’ve taught you?”

“My wings start at my...scapular?”

“Correct.”

“And I need to clean my secondaries and secondary co-cov…”

“Secondary coverts.”

“My secondary coverts!”

“Very good job! And can you remember what I’ve told you a while ago? Where your secondaries and secondary coverts go under?” 

“Oh! I know this one! They go...go under my marginal?”

Phil almost giggled at his son’s attempt.

“Your marginal what?”

Wilbur paused, he looked like he was spacing out.

“Marginal… coverts?”

“Yes! Your marginal coverts! Gah, I’m so proud of you!” Phil picked up Wilbur in a sort of spin hug, kissing him like a proud mother after watching their child’s talent show performance. “Okay, okay, go get dressed now. I want you dapper and cleaned for our guests.”

“Okay papa!” Wilbur dropped to the floor and scattered off to his room presumably.

Philza sighed in contemptment, starting to walk over to his room to finally change his tear and soup stained kimono. He glanced at the clock. “5:24.” The soon to be exhausted father thought. “An hour left to kill.”

Stripping his robe off he kept his mind occupied with the cooking downstairs and the thought of Wilbur burning the house down for whatever reason. As grim as that may sound, it amused him for the time being. 

He closed his bedroom door and headed for the stairs, already hearing screaming and makeshift sound effects of swords clashing. He sighed once again before starting the fight of calming them down and getting them guests ready. 

“What would I do without them?” He pondered, before taking a step down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my head cannon, I just thought it was a cute idea. Enjoy your free bird anatomy lesson, I'm here every Thursday. Tip your waitresses.


End file.
